One day, a patient came to our clinic to get one of his teeth pulled. The tooth was quite decayed and kept breaking off in little pieces, so the 15-minute procedure ended up taking more than an hour. Eventually we finished, and it was time to stop the bleeding. We placed packing in the side of his mouth and instructed him to bite down hard. However, he didn’t like the feel of the packing and kept spitting it out. We gave him more and explained again that he must keep pressure on the tooth socket so the blood could clot. But he just couldn’t wait long enough for that. One of the remedies Palawano people use to stop bleeding is swishing hot water around in their mouths. We warned him that hot water would inhibit clotting, but he chose not to follow our advice.

After working for several hours trying to stop the bleeding, we decided to keep him overnight at the clinic to monitor him. We started infusing IV fluids, left him a basin to spit in, and told his family to come and get us if anything happened. Then, exhausted, I went to bed.

The next thing I knew, one of the other nurses was waking me up to ask if I would hike down the mountain with our patient to take him to the hospital. His bleeding had gotten worse, and his blood loss was becoming a concern. Groggily, I stumbled out of bed to get dressed. I looked at my watch. Midnight. This is going to be a long night, I thought as I gathered my things.

At the clinic, there was a flurry of activity. People were coming in and out, gathering equipment and people to carry our patient down the dark, slippery mountain trail.

Nervously, I picked up my load: a blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, and the supplies to start a new IV if needed. The patient looked terrible and was extremely weak. Palawano men tied him into a big basket carried by a head strap. The IV bag hung from a stick extending from the top of the basket. A far cry from the ambulance transport I was familiar with in the States!

As we set off, I prayed for our patient’s safety and that God would give me the wisdom to know what to do. There weren’t any other English speakers among us, and my Palawano wasn’t very good yet. The patient’s family was from a faraway village, and they spoke a different dialect of Palawano, which further complicated our communication.

As we traversed the dark trail, I hiked behind the patient with his wife and kids. Five guys were in front of us taking turns carrying the patient. I was praying so much. As the nurse, I felt I should keep an eye on him, but the trail was so winding that most of the time I couldn’t see him as he bounced along in his basket ahead of me.

During a rest stop, I was able to assess him. I could rouse him, but he was very lethargic. I increased the flow of his IV fluids. I was very concerned about his blood loss.

As we continued down the mountain, stopping for occasional breaks, I kept praying that God would help me know what to do. At about the halfway point, I was supposed to text Pastor George to let him know to pick us up at the trailhead. But when I tried to send the text, it wouldn’t go through. I prayed and prayed that he would be there when we got there.

At almost 3 a.m., after about two hours of hiking, we reached the trailhead. Praise God, there was Pastor George waiting for us! He drove us quickly to the hospital, where the staff took care of our patient. They got him set up on oxygen, stopped his bleeding and stabilized his blood pressure. I ended up sitting with him until mid morning when his family came in to be with him. Later that day, I hiked back to Kemantian.

This experience was a big reminder to me that God is always there for me. There were so many moments when I had no idea what to do and could only pray that our patient would live. God was close by the whole time, and He made everything work out. When I feel the most weak and helpless, God’s strength can be seen most clearly working in my life and in the lives of others.

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